Between the Lines and Under the Stars
by turtledoves
Summary: Haymitch Abernathy fought a girl to the death to win the Games. This is her story. (But it's awfully intermingled with his, too.)


**a/n [**_I started writing this ages ago but never finished it, so let's see if I can still do it justice. It's told from the point of view of the District One girl who almost won the Fiftieth Hunger Games. Uses prompt 'verdant' from Caesar's palace._**]**

Seven pairs of eyes focus intently on the widescreen television, but only one stands out from the rest. Chenille lounges on the ground, insisting that it's more comfortable than the couches, but really she's avoiding sitting next to Cad. Her light brown eyes—some might even say they're golden—dart around the large screen. It's much larger than the one she has at home. It shows more detail. She isn't quite used to it yet.

They're watching the Reapings. Jacquard is taking noted, and Isabelline won't stop commenting. Cad is talking strategy with the mentors already. Chenille is imagining how the town will react when she comes home victor of the second Quarter Quell.

There are forty-eight people on the screen to watch, one right after the other. It starts when the name of a small girl rings out through the crowd, and an older girl rushes to volunteer. Just like that, Chenille is the first tribute of the second Quarter Quell.

This is how she'll be remembered.

(But there's a boy, too, and he's Reaped last. This is how he'll be remembered.)

—-

A pair of brown eyes, darker than hers, studies her up and down. Chenille looks up at the ceiling and pretends that being inspected doesn't unnerve her. Her stylist—Chenille forgets what her name was—finally brings her eyes up to meet Chenille's.

"You'll do," she remarks stiffly.

Chenille is outraged at the behavior. This woman should be bowing at Chenille's feet, not treating her like dirt. Doesn't she know she is attending to a future victor right now? But she doesn't voice her thoughts aloud; she was smarter than that.

"Thank you," she replies, nodding her head and smiling. "I just hope you make me look as beautiful as you."

Flattery will get you everywhere, after all.

And indeed, when it's time for Chenille to board the chariot, all three of her fellow tributes need to help her up so she doesn't tear her dress. But it's not quite a dress, because that would imply a sewn together piece with a skirt of some sort; Chenille is covered, but barely, in dark pink mesh, overlapped and wrinkled for style. Her platforms are seven inches, and as much as she pretends to, she can't take one step in them.

She doesn't think she's ever looked more fabulous, and the cheering crowd is inclined to agree.

(But there's a boy, too, and he doesn't think he's ever looked so stupid. The crowd just laughs when his chariot comes around.)

—-

The training arena is filled with so many people that the prospect of actually training seems out of the question. Chenille wonders for a moment why they didn't just build a bigger one, but she doesn't stay on the thought for long. What's done is done, and there's no use in complaining about it now.

The weapons stations are mostly completely dominated by the twelve Careers and the twenty or so people who want to learn to fight. A small boy to Chenille's right attempts to lift a javelin above his head to throw it and falls down in the process. She's polite enough not to laugh directly in his face. However, she does laugh loudly in the other direction as she walks to the station she intends to go to.

She spends the majority of her three days at the ax station. It's not the best use of her time, especially considering she can wield her weapon better than the assigned trainer, but Cad hates axes, and so he's nowhere to be seen. She does take time learning how to climb and practicing her knife skills, and she even spends an hour lifting weights. But at the end of it all, she's wishing she had a bit more time.

Her scoring session goes flawlessly—Chenille strategically hacked up three separate dummies at once. She receives a score of nine that complements her smug smile.

(But there's a boy, too, and by the time his score is announced, most people have turned off their televisions—the wait was boring and the low scores were uninteresting. Only a handful knows he got the same score as her.)

—-

Her last night is spent marveling at the stars. She lies on the ground with her side pressed against the cool glass window. It almost looks like she'll fall, like she's teetering on the edge, and she likes it that way. She likes staring up at the night sky, with the twinkling lights and blurred edges, because she likes beautiful things. And if anything is more beautiful than her, it's the stars.

(But there's a boy, too, and he's looking up at that sky and wishing he were somewhere else entirely. Somewhere back home where his girl was next to him instead of the cold chill of the empty sheets.)

—-

Her jaw drops open for the first second she's in the arena, but she closes it quickly, remembering her place. This is not the time to marvel at the luscious fields, it's time to focus. She looks around at her opponents; most of them do not have the sense she does. She readies her stance, prepared to run. When the gong finally sounds, she's off, and she doesn't look behind her.

She grabs an axe first, and turns around to meet anyone who could be coming her way. A boy, young and with a mess of blond hair, runs almost directly into her. Chenille stops him with the end of her axe in his chest. His eyes meet hers for an instant, and then the axe pulls out and the tribute falls to the ground.

A shadow to her left alerts her of another presence. She swings her arm wide; the fresh blood on the blade catches the light at the top of the arc and slams into the body of a girl with a raised sword in her hand. It drops to the ground seconds before she does.

Chenille backs up against the side of the Cornucopia, deeming the surrounding area safe, and takes in the sights. She's in the middle of a wide green field flush with spring flowers not unlike the ones that spring up back home. The sky is a flawless shade of blue that Chenille almost gets lost in. There's a forest in one direction, which she guesses is where most of tributes will run. She watches two of them sprint in that direction, one with arms full of supplies and the other empty handed.

That tribute should not have gotten away with so many supplies. Chenille grips her axe more firmly and looks at the tributes closest to her. A girl is hiding in the Cornucopia, her hands searching frantically for something in the piles. Chenille walks slowly to her, and the girl's face falls as her hands still.

That makes three dead by her hands.

(But there's a boy, too, and he sees eighteen faces in the sky on the first night.)

—-

They're scouring the mountain for tributes because even though Chenille persisted they were walking the wrong direction, she was outnumbered nine to one. Not even Isabelline backed up her side, and Chenille thought they'd gotten close during prep week.

The arena has already killed two of their pack off. And Chenille isn't surprised at who has fallen. She wasn't prepared for the arena that was deadlier than her, though, and she's disappointed that nature is taking out people she could've had the chance at.

They only catch two tributes in the mountains, and Chenille has a smug I-told-you-so smile permanently etched onto her face.

Four days in, the volcano starts to rumble, and everyone immediately thinks earthquake. Chenille and her pack stop walking and hunker down to wait it out, their banter causing their inobservance.

(But there's a boy, too, and from his spot in the forest he can see the smoke rising from the top of the volcano.)

—-

They split up when Cad's head starts rolling down a hill. It's not Chenille's fault. Not really. He's been testing her patience since day one, almost asking to be killed. That doesn't stop the other Careers to abandon her out of mistrust and head farther into the woods, leaving her with the little she was carrying in her backpack, a bloody axe, and a lifeless body.

He wasn't supposed to volunteer this year, anyway. It was only right.

(But there's a boy, too, and with the help from a friend, they make it so there's only one Career left in the game.)

—-

She's counting down the tributes, and there's only five left. Including her. And she's run out of food. Cad's headless body is gone, but his blood still stains her axe. This ends today.

Chenille starts moving. Four tributes left to kill.

She uses the sun to tell time as she goes, and when it has just hit the afternoon, Chenille knows she's running out of time.

If it weren't for the scream, Chenille never would've found the tribute. The scream comes from far away, but she can hear it just fine. She doubts another tribute has caused it; there's no one of worth left in the arena. Most likely someone had been sliced by the overly wide grass blades—like Chenille was—or had stumbled across the pack of squirrels—which she'd seen a glimpse of.

There's a weakling of a tribute hidden in a bush that whimpers at the sound, at Chenille whirls toward it.

"Come out," she beckons, her voice soft. "I want to see you."

A lanky tribute rises from his crouch and stares at Chenille, his mouth opens as his breaths quicken, a knife in his hand.

"Come on," she says with a wave of her hand.

The boy steps out from the bush, tripping on a branch. He stands before her, shaking, and closes his eyes, his grip on the knife tightening. Chenille grits her teeth, not wanting an easy death, and swings her axe into his leg. He collapses to his knees, and his face contorts in pain, but he doesn't scream.

She drives the axe into the same spot, severing his leg just above the knee. This time he screams, and that's good enough for Chenille. She raises her arm for the final blow, but the boy musters up the strength to throw the knife into her thigh. And it sticks.

The axe strikes his side, lodging between two ribs, and he curls up in a ball, screaming again when she rips the axe out. Chenille walks away. His canon doesn't sound until twenty minutes later.

(But there's a boy, too, and he's too busy mourning his friend to hear the signal of another death.)

—-

She really just wants to go home already. Is that too much to ask?

(But there's a boy, too, and he's just angry.)

—-

It's around four when she finally stumbles upon him. For a while they stand and watch each other, both knowing how this is going to end. Chenille knows she'll win. It's that simple, really. He's only got a sword at his side, and she bets he can't even use it. A grin slides up onto her face.

"What's your name?" she asks, swinging the axe slowly in her hand.

There's no reply.

"I'm Chenille," she says, stepping closer.

His expression doesn't even change.

"I'm going to kill you now," she says.

He grins.

Surprisingly, he makes the first move, swinging out at Chenille with his sword, which she easily blocks before taking a swing at him. He ducks. It's the best thing about an axe; it's harder to deflect.

They're moving forward as they go—or backward for him, she supposes—just taking swings at each other.

Unsurprisingly, her axe is the first weapon to find its mark. It sinks into his left arm, which isn't quite where she wanted, but it'll do. Before she can move back, he slices his sword through her thigh, not an inch below her last wound.

She's seething when she slices again with her axe, and this time it makes a cut over his collarbone. He winces, and Chenille can sense her impending victory. She laughs, forgetting herself for a moment, and he takes action immediately.

For a moment, Chenille is blind and she can't quite place why. The world comes back in a mess of verdant greens and messy reds. Her eye stings, and she can't feel it, and then she's howling. The tang of blood presses against her lips and she spits it at the face of her opponent.

"You're dead!" she shouts. She swings her axe at him like mad, not at all like she was taught, and succeeds in a long groan.

She's only seeing half of what she's used to, but it's doubled on top of that. She can't see the damage she's done, only that she needs to cause more.

And it's getting harder to walk.

He stumbles away from her, and she follows. She walks with her axe in front of her to make sure she doesn't run into anything while she checks her eye with her other hand. She only finds the lids, and a hollow space underneath them. A scream works its way from her throat.

The tribute pauses when he hears her, and he raises his sword again. Does he think he'll win if she's half blind? Well, he's got his stomach sliced open so they're even, she thinks.

She raises up her weapon to defend herself but her arm seems to move in slow motion, and her eye—or the space that used to hold her eye—hurts. And it's tearing blood. The boy's sword hits her hand, right where it connects with the axe, and the weapon falls as if there was nothing to hold it in place. She grabs the sword with her hand—it's already bloodied enough—and rips it from his grip.

Her vision is going white this time, and it's the only thing her adrenaline cannot prevent. She picks up her axe and continues following him until the forest ends, and they're left standing on a cliff.

They stand for a moment, just staring at each other again, because this is what it all comes down to. Chenille takes a moment to compose herself, then throws her axe at him. He collapses to the ground with a groan just in time to miss it. Her weapon flies to the bottom of the cliff.

She's starting to feel faint. He's coughing up blood.

The last thing she sees is the axe soaring back out of the abyss, straight towards her. She thinks it's a dream. Or maybe she's died.

Most definitely, she's lost.

(But there's a boy, too, and he's won.)


End file.
